


Sort of Like That O. Henry Story

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, Humor, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, No Really I'm Sure They Give Each Other BJs All the Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: It was Rodney's day off, so he spent it working on a present for John.





	Sort of Like That O. Henry Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [em-kellesvig (mischief5)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief5/gifts).



> who makes the world's best cheerleader.

  
  


* * *

Rodney bounded toward Sheppard's quarters, tablet in hand, eager to demonstrate his latest achievement—a module for the gate that would scan for the subspace frequencies the Wraith used in Runners' tracking devices. Each time Atlantis used the gate, they'd be looking for Runners, and hence searching for poor Aiden Ford, who at last shaky Intel had been turned into a Runner.

Rodney couldn't say why he'd spent his entire day off working on the side-project instead of going to M2C-714 with Radek and the rest of the science team to shop in the tech junk flea market heaven that awaited them there, except, well, of course Rodney cared for Ford, who had saved his life on more than one occasion before going a little loopy on Wraith juice. Also, Rodney had seen John's expression when he heard the news about Aiden, and Rodney's stomach had squirmed unpleasantly at the way John's lips pressed together before his jaw tightened and he turned away.

So. A tracker scanner. Right in the palm of Rodney's hand. He practically bounced down the corridor as he checked the graph of the simulation—very pretty—and so wasn't quite looking where he was going when he rammed straight into a warm, moving wall and flopped down onto his ass.

Ouch. "For Pete's sake!" Rodney held the tablet high in the air and safe from harm. "What is the damned hurry, Speed Racer?"

A familiar, cracked chuckle greeted him, and Rodney looked up into Sheppard's bright grin. "I'll slow right down if you promise to look up once in a while."

"Fine. Fine," Rodney said. "Help me up."

Sheppard offered a hand; Rodney reached up to grab it and was hauled to his feet in one swift movement. He held onto Sheppard's hand, though, puzzled by something. It hit him a moment later—Sheppard's wrist was missing its trademark sweatband. It was positively naked. Rodney stared, captivated, at the revealed skin, slightly paler than the rest of Sheppard's arm.

"You..." Sheppard said, but Rodney wasn't listening, he was still staring at the subtle hollow where the tendons branched out, at how almost-delicate the knob of Sheppard's wrist was.

"I—I just..." Rodney released Sheppard's hand with a start and looked up.

Sheppard stared at him, the oddest expression on his face.

"S-sorry," Rodney said, feeling his face heat. He dropped his eyes and, oh, God, Sheppard was wearing civvies, a short-sleeved black polo shirt with the collar wide open so his chest was revealed—he was practically naked there, too, indecent! The amount of skin he was showing, his tanned arms and the bulge of veins and muscle, the feathering of chest hair peeking out of the 'V' of his shirt and nestled in the notch of his collarbones. So much Sheppard on display. Rodney's mouth went utterly dry.

"I—uh—" He held up the pad, at a complete loss for words. "Brought. Scanning for..." He waved the pad frantically trying to kick-start his brain, abashed beyond belief. God, what on Earth possessed him? Finally, Rodney looked up, prepared to find Sheppard laughing his ass off.

Sheppard's mouth was open all right, his tongue rolled to the edge of his lips, and he was still staring. Oh, God. 

Then Sheppard blinked and said, "Blue."

"I'm sorry?"

"Just. Your...it—that shirt, you, and, uh...eyes?"

"I—what?"

Sheppard shook his head abruptly. "I'm...I gotta go," he muttered, shoving something into Rodney's hands. Before Rodney could blink, he was gone.

After a stunned moment, Rodney looked down at his hands and saw...the jumper flight comparison analysis he'd been wistfully wishing for a couple of weeks ago. Sheppard had brought him a gift, just like Rodney had tried to. 

Hmmm. Interesting.

:::

Sheppard wasn't in the armory, the first place he always went when he got his shorts in a knot about something. 

And he wasn't on the third balcony West Tower playing darts, where he went to be soulful and angst about things.

Thank goodness he wasn't in the gym getting beaten by Ronon's rods or Teyla's sticks. Rodney could never understand that particular masochistic impulse, but Sheppard was far too pretty to risk his face like that. 

Oh God. Sheppard was pretty. Rodney had known Sheppard for over three years and apparently all it took was one perverse peek at Sheppard's naked wrist, and Rodney was reduced to a slavering sycophant. To make matters worse, he couldn't even regret it. The image of Sheppard's wrist bones kept interfering with his normal brain function. 

So be it. Time to bring out the big guns. Rodney lifted his tracker scanner and, using his brilliantly designed interface, reset the frequency for the SGC's subcutaneous transmitters.

Oh, lookee here—way out on a far tower of the unused north wing. A lone signal. Either Sgt. Chopra was practicing his tuba again, or John Sheppard was out there yodeling his lonesome cowboy tunes under the Ancient city's broken dome. The acoustics in the amphitheater were apparently terrific. 

Rodney headed for the nearest transporter.

:::

"Do you have any idea what the implications are of this?" Rodney said, rushing into the broken dome. He put down his tablet case and waved the report at Sheppard, who looked up from his guitar with his eyes wide. "It's just remarkable. If the program is ever declassified, the Air Force is going to pee its uniform pants to get ahold of a jumper. They outperform even your touted F-15s and Thundercats in every metric." 

John's expression unfroze as he snorted. "Thunder _birds_ , Rodney. Sheesh." 

"Right, right." Rodney stood twisting the report between his hands. "I'm...thanks for working on this. I knew the puddlejumpers were extraordinary, but seeing the numbers side-by-side..."

John ducked his head. "Well, you know..." He put the guitar aside, to Rodney's relief. 

"But you left so quickly, I didn't get a chance to show you this," Rodney said, pulling his tablet from its case and rushing over to sit by John on the bench. "I created a scanning program that will engage as a subroutine every time we dial out. It will look for all the known frequencies for Runner tracking devices." 

John reached out and touched the sim display, which glowed with times and dates and frequencies corresponding to gate addresses. "You...you...for Ford?" He took the tablet and stared at it, the glow of the screen lighting up his face. 

Rodney coughed. John's wrist was still bare, except for a very thin black bracelet that only served to emphasize how naked and sexy— "Well, of course. And for anyone else out there who might need—" His voice petered out. He'd reached the end of his script.

John put the tablet aside and grabbed his wrist. "Jesus, Rodney. You're just so...so fucking—" He swallowed, and that damnable tongue of his came out to flick over his lip. "You just..." John squeezed his wrist. 

Oh dear God. This could not be happening, or nanites had infused Rodney's brain the last time he went for a walk offworld, because John pulled him closer and—

"Why are your eyes are so damned blue, anyway?" John said and then kissed him. Rodney's brain spluttered as John sucked on his lower lip, making him whimper in disbelief. 

"Yeah?" John said, and "Definitely, yes, please," Rodney babbled, and John smiled against his mouth, his chin a little scratchy and deliciously rough against Rodney's. Then John grabbed Rodney's biceps, rubbing over them and then down to his chest to his nipples, teasing them with his thumbs, which was rude and wonderful. It was almost as if John had thought about this in advance.

"You seem to have a plan," Rodney said, but John replied, "All this time, and you think I plan ahead?" 

"Good point," Rodney said, and didn't complain when John punctuated it by twisting his left nipple and pushing him to his back on the bench. Rodney heard the tablet clatter to the floor and couldn't give a rat's ass. The Ancient metal was cool and smooth against his back, but John was hot—a twisting, warm-smelling weight above him. Rodney reached up and slid his hand down John's forearm and connected with his wrist, letting his fingers trace the bones, the hollows, as he spread his legs and let John settle a leg between them.

"I'm gonna need that hand," John said, eyes crinkling as he smiled down at Rodney, wrist still captured between Rodney's fingers.

"What for?" Rodney asked innocently, and John leaned over and scuffed a laugh against Rodney's shoulder. 

"I can't believe this," he said, his voice muffled against Rodney's shirt. "Seriously can't believe this is happening."

"Then you have a substandard imagination, Colonel. John," Rodney amended after a moment.

John kissed him hard, his tongue pushing into Rodney's mouth, and Rodney released his wrist to shove a hand up the back of John's shirt, to feel the muscles of his sides flex and move as he thrust his cock against Rodney's. Even through layers of clothing it was enough to make Rodney gasp and hook his leg around John's and try to get closer, tighter—from the sounds John was making, he wanted the same thing. He groaned, "Rodney," and pushed up on his elbows to grind down harder.

"I can't...believe...you're going to make me come...with my clothes on," Rodney panted, clutching at John's ass. "I wanted to get my hands on your cock. I wanted to put my fingers in you. I wanted to—" 

John panted, staring down into Rodney's face.

Apparently, dirty talk was a go. "You have no idea what I wanted to do to you. Just seeing you in short sleeves was a turn-on. I wanted to strip you naked and tie you to the bed and—" 

John seized up in Rodney's arms, shaking, his face scrunching up. He shoved weakly a couple more times against Rodney before collapsing with a shaky moan, his lips brushing Rodney's neck. 

"That, right there," Rodney said, rubbing his back. "I wanted to see that in particular."

"Holy crap." John laughed quietly before heaving a deep breath. "C'mon," he said. "Let's see what you got." And with that, he slithered down to the floor and tugged open Rodney's pants.

"Oh, you can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am."

"It's...I'm not...this will be over in a heartbeat if you put your mouth on me."

"Hey. We're not keeping score, here," John said, smirking a little. "Besides, I only have the practice room until 3:30." He yanked down Rodney's shorts and took him into his warm, calloused hand.

And, seriously, it was a good thing John wasn't doing a timed trial, because the moment he squeezed Rodney's cock and pouted his full, curvy lips over the crown, Rodney had to close his eyes or risk shooting all over John's face. Oh, dear sweet pitiful mother of the infant baby Jesus, that was a sweet image. He was going to dirty talk himself into an orgasm, at this rate. "Please, please, please," he begged, "I just want to last long enough to enjoy this."

But then John pushed down his foreskin and ran his tongue soft and wet right there, Jesus, right the fuck over and over right there, swirling and sucking and stroking him and slobbering— "God, John, God, ah!"

And then John smiled up at him smugly with come on his lips. Christ Almighty. The man was a demon. 

Rodney tumbled off the bench and kissed the smug and come off him, while John wheezed and waved his arms around trying to keep them both upright.

"Pull your pants up, at least," he said, still smiling, and Rodney had to kiss him again. 

"Fine, but I maintain this is all your fault." Rodney shoved himself back into his shorts and got all zipped up while John watched him with apparent fascination. He seemed especially fixated on Rodney's chest, and Rodney crossed his arms and gave him a look.

But John just tilted his head. "What?"

"You're staring."

John's eyebrows crinkled entertainingly. "I'm not supposed to?"

"Oh. Oh, I guess? Huh." 

"Because I could try to stop, but..."

"But?"

"But I don't want to." John lifted his chin. 

Rodney's heart thumped. "You make a compelling argument."

"I do, huh?"

"And I'd hate to have to give up my own, um, privileges."

"Oh, yeah?" John looked intrigued.

"Yes. Yes, there's this particular, ah. There's one spot exactly that lately I've..." He grabbed John's hand and stroked the divot just below his thumb, that place where his wristband habitually rested. Rodney rubbed the skin there and watched John's eyelids flutter. "Right," Rodney said, and John looked up.

"Yours if you want it," John said, his voice husky, and Rodney smiled.

"Same to you," Rodney said. "A reciprocal arrangement, as it were."

"Wear that blue shirt more often and you've got a deal," John said, drawing the back of his hand over Rodney's cheek. Rodney bit his lip, his knees feeling shaky, and John grinned and bent down to pick up the tablet and case. "So, tell me more about this tracker deal? Back in my quarters, I'm thinking." He tugged at his pants. "And hopefully before my shorts get cemented to my 'nads. You up for another round?" John tilted his head in challenge.

"You're so on," Rodney said, miffed that John could reduce him to so much jelly with a single touch.

He followed John's cocky strut out the door. 

 

.................................  
August 25, 2017  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
